


Shotgun Opera

by grittycupcakes, RizaHawkeye1380



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Graphic Description of Corpses, Heavy Angst, Ishval Civil War, Near Death Experiences, Royai - Freeform, Triggers, Work In Progress, or at least dying people, riza hawkeye - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 16:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21377317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grittycupcakes/pseuds/grittycupcakes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RizaHawkeye1380/pseuds/RizaHawkeye1380
Summary: Have you ever thought that if one thing hadn’t happened, a whole set of things never would’ve either? Like dominoes; a single event kicked off an unstoppable series of changes that gained momentum and spun out of control, and nothing was ever the same again.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye & Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	Shotgun Opera

Riza Hawkeye perched on the third floor of what was once an Ishvalan home, looking through the scope of her gun as she eyed the windows of the building across from her. The street had been silent the entire day, just as the day before, and the day before that, but something in the air had shifted. There were rumors about an Ishvalan sniper who had taken out whole units, disappearing without a trace in the aftermath. The ruin across the street, according to her intel, served as the sniper’s base, and it was Riza’s job to take him out, whoever he was.

As she eyed the building in front of her, she took notice of her surroundings. For the most part, this street had been untouched by the massacres, with no trace of the destruction Ishaval had faced thus far but the cracked pavement. Riza hadn’t been sleeping among the rubble while she waited for her pray; instead, she slept on an old, dusty couch with a half-disintegrated blanket to keep her warm in the cold desert nights. Despite the bare walls and the few, scattered belongings people had left behind, she couldn't shake the feeling that this was once someone's  _ home _ she was in. A place where people stayed, had eaten and slept and loved. Not just a house, or a crumbling building in a dead city, but a  _ home. _

Home had never been the house she had lived in with her father. The days spent with Berthold while he was locked away in his study Riza did all the chores, raised chickens, and hunted to make ends meet. That place was empty of love, of joy, the same way her father was. To Riza,  _ home  _ was a person. 

But he wasn’t with her. He was somewhere on a battlefield last she had heard, and though she had no doubts he would be fine, Riza couldn’t help the twisting of her stomach that kept her up on the nights she spent by the radio, waiting for news from the front lines. It had been silent for a week and, despite her pride, she could admit to herself that it made her unsettled.

Maybe that was why she didn’t notice the movement in the window. It was just a second, maybe less, but it was enough. 

Riza fired. At the same time, the sniper across the street pulled the trigger, and time slowed to a crawl. 

Her bullet soared through the air and struck the Ishvalan square in the forehead. Through her scope, she saw him crumble, his gun falling out the window to clatter to the ground like a broken toy. Crows scattered, marring the perfect blue of the sky with flecks of black, and then, the bullet hit her.

It all happened in an instant. 

The round ricocheted out of her eye socket and out through her sinus cavity, lodging itself somewhere in the wall to her left. Distantly, Riza heard herself scream. It burned, burned like hell, worse than the day she had the result of her father’s research tattooed into her skin, but Riza stood on shaky legs anyway. Blood ran down her face in a waterfall, soaking her shirt and dripping onto the floor as she hefted up her gun, its scope shattered in pieces on the dirty carpet. Then, rifle slung over her shoulders, Riza made her way out of the building, each breath a ragged drag as she stumbled down the crumbling stairs, trailing blood on her way.

The light of day was blinding, washing the colors of the world to shades of grey. Riza walked through the streets in a daze, headed in the vague direction of base camp, holding her uniform coat to her jacket to stop the bleeding. Her blood soaked it through until it was too stained to save, and so she threw it to the side. The longer she walked, the farther away her pain felt, until it was a sting in the back of her mind. She needed all her focus to keep upright.

Riza crested a hill, dragging her feet with every step, and finally,  _ finally, _ she saw the flag of Amestris flying high, the over-saturated in her black and white world. With a relieved sob, she broke out into a run, staggering and slipping and scraping her palms on the rough, broken ground when she fell. Still, she drew herself to her feet and ran, screaming, sobbing, as the soldiers noticed her.

Vaguely, she heard her name being called over her sobs and her own heartbeat, thudding in her ears. Men and women in blue rushed to her, taking her by the arms and stripping her of her rifle,  _ stay calm Hawkeye, you’re safe,  _ and finally, Riza’s legs gave out. The last thing she saw as she collapsed into the arms of her comrades was the blue of the sky as crows circled overhead, crying out.

Riza’s eye slipped closed, and she saw nothing at all.


End file.
